


Push Me Down and Hold Me Tight

by runningondreams



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Consensual bondage, Developing Relationship, Handcuffs, M/M, Not really D/s but hints Tony might like subbing sometimes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tony in handcuffs, clothes-on sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams/pseuds/runningondreams
Summary: "I can do handcuffs," Tony says.“That's not what I asked. I want to know whether youenjoybeing handcuffed,” Steve tells him. “Whether you want your hands pinned so that I can touch you,” he draws his fingertips through the stubble and beard on Tony’s jaw and presses his thumb to Tony’s chin, just below his lips, “but you can’t touch me.”





	Push Me Down and Hold Me Tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).



> Written for navaan, who requested porny things as part of the 2018 fandom_stocking event. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> * * *

They’re setting a pattern. It’s not morning kisses over coffee, or farewell kisses by the door. There’s no texting over Tony’s lunch break or any of the other little rituals he’s had in past relationships. Or whatever this is that they’re doing. But when he gets home, _whenever_ he gets back to the mansion, no matter how long he’s been gone and no matter how late, Steve is waiting for him. Sometimes with dinner in the kitchen, sometimes just reading in the library. And then, when Tony’s taken his last bite, or they’ve finished relating the events of their days, Steve kisses him, deliberate and thorough, and takes him to bed. 

Tony doesn’t ask what it means, just in case the question would make Steve stop. Twice, it’s happened after Avenger’s business, once still in their uniforms and once fresh out of the shower afterwards, but there’s something especially exhilarating about letting Steve mess him up after a day at the office. To have Steve’s hands wrinkling his shirt and shoving his jacket down his shoulders, Steve’s thigh pressed between his legs, hot even through layers of silk and wool, and Steve’s mouth on his neck, teeth dragging down to his collar. Like he can strip away every hint of pent-up stress over endless paperwork and fractious board meetings and every layer of Tony Stark: inventor, CEO, public persona, until all that’s left is Tony: naked and open and vulnerable even with his clothes still on.

He’s not sure what it says about him, that freedom feels like Steve’s tongue in his mouth and Steve’s cock inside him is a relief that strikes to his core. He’s not sure he wants to know, as long as it works.

Tonight he’s managed to step out of his shoes and strip off his tie, but now Steve’s hand is in his hair, just firm enough to hold him still, and his back is pressed against his bedroom door, cool and solid. The kiss is lingering, just light enough to tease. Tony raises his hands to pull Steve closer, but Steve catches his wrists and breaks the kiss.

“You said you liked it when I held you down,” he says. The little jerk of Tony’s hips against his is probably answer enough, but Tony nods anyway.

“Anytime you want,” he says, because seriously. _Anytime_. Now, in fact, would be amazing.

“How do you feel about handcuffs?” Steve asks. 

Tony breathes a small, incredulous laugh; he’s literally never considered such a question coming out of Steve’s mouth. “Do you _have_ handcuffs?” Because if this is a hypothetical, that’s one thing but if Steve actually has--and there they are, gleaming silver in Steve’s hand. Which means Steve has actually spent part of his day _planning_ this, which is . . . a lot. He’ll think about the warm, fluttery feeling in his stomach later.

“I can do handcuffs,” Tony assures him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“That’s not what I asked.” Steve lets go of his wrist and strokes a line down the front of his shirt, tracing the buttons Tony already knows won’t be getting undone tonight, because Steve doesn’t mind if he wants to keep his chest covered. 

“I want to know whether you _enjoy_ being handcuffed,” Steve says. “Whether you _want_ your hands pinned so that I can touch you,” he draws his fingertips through the stubble and beard on Tony’s jaw and presses his thumb to Tony’s chin, just below his lips, “but you can’t touch me.” 

He steps back. Just far enough that Tony can’t quite reach him. 

Tony can feel the waiting tension like it’s drawn across his skin. The moment is hanging by the thinnest of threads. So he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t say _I want whatever you want_ , because that’s not what Steve wants to hear and he knows it. He breathes deep, and the tingle of desire and yearning settles into his bones.

He says, “Please cuff me,” and lets Steve draw him in with a hand on the back of his neck, lets Steve claim him with his tongue in his mouth and relaxes into surrender. The first cuff closes around his left wrist with a moment of cool pressure and a shock of pure lust down his spine.

His neck prickles as Steve circles behind him, anticipation lighting up his nerves. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feel of it, on Steve’s hands guiding his elbows into place and the shift of Steve’ body warmth. The brush of his shirt cuffs against his wrists. The soft click as the second cuff closes. Not so tight they pinch. Not so loose they hang off his wrists. Just a constant presence. A weight of restraint and an anchor to this moment, now.

He shivers, his skin suddenly sensitive enough he’s noticing the pull of his shirt over his nipples and the bush of his own shirt collar on the back of his neck.

Steve’s lips press behind his ear and something thin and cold presses into his palm. The key, Tony realizes. Just in case. He closes his fingers over it until the edges bite. Steve’s fingertips glide over his shoulders, resettling his jacket and straightening his sleeves. Another reminder, of the image Tony makes of himself. An image Steve is going to completely dismantle, if Tony’s lucky. 

Steve circles back around and kisses him again, slow and warm and unyielding. Tony widens his stance--It’s harder to keep his balance with his hands restrained--and Steve smiles against his lips, one hand sliding down to cup Tony’s cock through his slacks and _oh_ , that’s nice. Tony leans into the touch, into the solid _presence_ of Steve and pants against his mouth as Steve rubs his cock with the heel of his hand, as he untucks Tony’s shirt and slides warm fingertips up over his belly. Every touch goes straight to his core, liquid and molten, and he thinks he could come just from this, just from Steve touching him through his clothes while his hands are trapped behind his back.

Steve puts his hand to Tony’s neck and pushes his head back with his thumb on Tony’s jaw so Tony can’t even kiss him, holds him just far enough away that the only places they touch are Steve’s hands, steady and firm, and Steve’s mouth

He breathes Steve’s name in a whimper as Steve’s tongue draws down his neck. There’s a line of wet kisses over his jaw and a nip of teeth at his pulse point. He jerks at the cuffs, the urge to touch overwhelming his better judgement, and Steve leans back to watch him with hooded eyes. He takes his hands away and puts them on himself instead, unbuttoning his pants and drawing down the zipper. 

The cuffs are definitely keeping Tony’s hands behind his back. The metal pinches at the skin of his wrists and he doesn’t care; he’s so hard the rigid line of his belt is starting to be almost painful, but he doesn’t care because Steve’s got his pants hanging low on his hips, stroking his thumb over the head of his own cock, just watching him, and Tony _wants_ it. Wants Steve’s cock in his mouth and Steve’s fingers inside him, wants Steve to pound him into the floor or the bed or the wall or whatever happens to be convenient, _right now_ , but he cant make that happen, only Steve can make that happen because Tony _can’t use his hands_.

But he’s good at adapting. He takes two clumsy steps and sinks to his knees in front of Steve’s crotch. The proportions aren’t quite right but he does what he can, pushes his mouth and nose into Steve’s scrotum and licks greedily at the base of Steve’s cock, Steve’s pants and underwear pressing against his neck. He’s rewarded with a groan and a hand in his hair, the grip just shy of pain. 

“Please,” he murmurs against Steve’s warm skin. He’s not even sure what he’s asking for, but he _wants_. “Please.”

Steve drags his head back and bends down to kiss him, sloppy and demanding enough that when Steve replaces his tongue with his cock Tony already feels broken open and ravaged and he _still wants_. He sucks eagerly, uses his tongue and shifts on his knees to get as close as he can until his mouth is as full of Steve as he can manage.

It’s glorious. Steve grabs the lapels of Tony’s jacket and holds on and Tony does his best to give the kind of blowjob he knows Steve likes: wet and deep and enthusiastic. His shoulders burn. He has to grab his own hands and consciously focus on relaxing his arms to give the cuffs some slack. His thighs ache and his belt bites a little with every bob. He’s never skipping his core workout again. Not if this is something he has to look forward to, Steve’s cock sliding over his tongue and into his throat and the constant pull of metal on his wrists, an undeniable reminder that he, Tony, doesn’t have to be in control here, even as the wool of one his best work suits rubs across his skin. And then Steve pulls away, draws back and sweeps his thumb over Tony’s mouth, spreading saliva and precum over his jaw. Tony lets his mouth fall open and stares up into Steve’s face, into his eyes with the pupils to wide there’s hardly a sliver of blue left at the edges. Steve strokes his hands over Tony’s face and grabs his shirt collar and growls in his ear, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

Tony makes a sound that’s part whine and part sob. _God_ yes. Please. Steve’s pulled him back to his feet and yanked off his belt before he realizes he’s speaking aloud, a whispered stream of Steve’s name and small pleas and attempts to kiss any part of Steve he can reach as Steve opens his slacks and pushes his boxers down his hips. He can feel the brush of his shirt over his ass, the slightly heavier weight of his jacket just below his hips, the drag of his cuffed hands keeping the fabric close. Steve’s hand on his cock, skin to skin, is so intense his vision whites out and he comes with a shuddering gasp. 

“Sorry,” he pants into Steve’s shoulder. “Sorry, sorry.”

He can feel Steve’s laugh rumble in his chest. Steve’s hands gentle, moving over his hips soothingly.

“I _wanted_ you to come, Tony. If you _don’t_ come, I’m doing something wrong.” He moves Tony with little nudges, until they’re eye to eye. 

His hair’s still perfectly unmussed, Tony realizes. Because Tony hadn’t touched it before the cuffs went on. In fact, from the shoulders up, Steve barely looks _flushed_. Like maybe he stopped for some light pushups a few minutes ago. If not for the heat in his eyes, you’d never know he’d been having his cock sucked at all.

The fact that Steve could potentially fuck him like this and then walk out the door looking perfectly presentable turns out to be a pretty big turn on. The fact that the only reason he can’t do that _right now_ is because there are streaks of Tony’s cum all over his t-shirt and hand is a bigger one. Tony’s cock twitches.

“Um,” he says.

Steve grins at him. 

“I’m still going to fuck you,” he promises.

“Oh good,” Tony says. His voice sounds faint to his own ears. 

And then Steve’s touching him again, one hand on his hip and one at his shoulder to steady him, pushing him back one step at a time until he finally just picks Tony up and sets him down in the middle of the bed in one smooth and easy movement that sends another jolt of lust through Tony’s stomach. The advantages of fucking a supersoldier are many and varied and he’s updating his list almost constantly. He really, really wishes he could pull Steve’s shirt off and see those muscles up close right now. His hands jerk with the impulse, and again the cuffs resist.

He considers, briefly, the merits of trying to pull Steve’s shirt off with his teeth, but by then Steve’s kissing him and his mouth is otherwise occupied. Steve pushes him back against the mattress and kisses him all the way down, and Tony crosses his wrists and grabs his own forearms and draws them up to the small of his back for better leverage. He pulls his knees up to his chest and grinds into Steve as best he can. He gets more kisses while Steve pulls on a condom and lubes up, hungry, ardent kisses that leave Tony gasping and needy all over again, and then Steve’s pressing into him and he can feel his own heartbeat in his ears, his thoughts turning to so much static as everything else ceases to hold any relevance whatsoever. 

Steve fucks him like he’s made a whole strategic campaign of it, like he won’t be satisfied until he’s wrung every last bit of pleasure from Tony’s body. He never falters or slows, and his hand on Tony’s thigh is just tight enough to leave a visible bruise. The old one faded a week ago and _god_ , Tony hadn’t thought he could miss something like that but he has and he needs to touch Steve so badly.

He squirms and arches his back; he pushes his head and shoulders up as far as he can and it’s still not close enough to kiss. He begs, _Please, Steve, need you, please_ , and Steve holds him still with one hand and cups his face with the other and pounds into him, whispering, _I’m here, Tony, I got you, I got you_ , _you feel so good, Tony._ He leans into Steve’s hand on his cheek and then turns to lick at his wrist and his palm, pulling Steve’s thumb into his mouth and tasting himself on Steve’s skin. It’s almost enough. He wants Steve’s fingers in his mouth, holding it open, wants to feel full and claimed in every way possible, wants to feel nothing but this--he comes again, more a gentle ripple of pleasure this time, and Steve follows him over with his name on his lips, _Tony, Tony, Tony._

 _I love you_ , Tony whispers in the privacy of his own mind. _I love you, I love you._

Steve drapes over him, his head on Tony’s chest. He presses soft kisses to Tony’s shirt and touches him with light, gentle sweeps of his fingertips. His hair his mussed _now_ , Tony notes, and he smiles at that. Steve smiles back.

His first cogent thought, some immeasurable span of time after as he rides out the warm currents of orgasm, is that his suit is probably a lost cause at this point. That, or his dry cleaning bill is going way up.

He can’t bring himself to regret that. 

His second thought is that his shoulders are starting to cramp. 

He winces, and Steve is immediately moving, helping him sit up and taking the key from his hand. The cuffs come undone with a faint rattle of chain and Tony brings his hands in front of him and rubs at his wrists.

No bruising, he notes. Just some redness where he strained too hard against the edges. 

Steve draws closer behind him and reaches around, massaging his forearms and palms and stroking lightly over the marks on his wrists.

“Sorry,” he says, hooking his chin over Tony’s shoulder. He’s warm and incredibly steadying. “I probably should have found some more specific cuffs for this.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Tony leans back into him, letting his shoulders relax and his eyes close to better take in the feeling. It’s almost like being held, with Steve’s arms and legs on either side and Steve’s hands on his and the floaty warmth of orgasm still eddying through him. “I’m not sorry at all.”

Steve presses a kiss behind his ear. Tony can feel his smile. 

“Good to know,” he says.

It occurs to Tony that, with his hands free, he actually _can_ touch Steve now. Even though he doesn’t really feel like moving. He takes the opportunity to link his fingers through Steve’s and hold on. Steve squeezes his fingers and then draws their hands up together, crossing both their arms so that Tony is hugging himself inside Steve’s own hug. It’s warm and secure and unexpectedly careful, like Steve is entirely wrapped around him, and it touches something so deeply buried Tony hadn’t quite realized he was still holding on to it. He’s quite certain he’s never felt this safe before in his entire life. There are actual tears prickling at his eyes and emotion rising in his throat.

“I love you.” He doesn’t mean to say it, but there it is. If he’s wrong about this moment, this is going to hurt rather a lot.

Steve squeezes him tighter, just for a second. “I know, Tony,” he says, and he’s not drawing away, not shifting back or letting go. “I love you, too.”


End file.
